


What a Stupid Name

by seashadows



Series: Tell Me Inside Out [3]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good things come to those who wait, and Charles is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a Stupid Name

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Fanklok!

Did Charles feel bad about what had happened at Klokikon?   
  
It depended on the context, of course. In terms of necessity…perhaps. If Nathan’s psychotic girlfriend hadn’t been holding a damn _bomb_ , then no, it wouldn’t have been necessary for every convention-goer to die in an undoubtedly metal conflagration. For that, Charles supposed that he regretted all the death.   
  
Still – the woman had been attached to Nathan for weeks, so perhaps ( _definitely_ ) he had wanted her to blow her own fucking head off.   
  
Nathan hadn’t come to him after that meeting in the kitchen. In fact, he hadn’t spoken to Charles at all, save for band meetings, three- or four-word texts about going to teach class, and shouts of “I NEED PRETZELS!” or “HOLY SHIT, THE TOILET’S FLOODING!” In all cases, Charles had sent snacks without spitting in the bowls, sent a Gear in a gas mask to plunge the toilet, and generally sent out all his usual resources to make sure the boys had everything they needed or wanted. (He had also had to impress on Murderface how inconsiderate it was to take an “upper-decker” in a communal toilet, a subject he was fairly sure his college advisor hadn’t expected him to know about in twenty years.)   
  
To anyone else, it would seem like he didn’t care. Maybe the boys were right to call him a robot, then…but that didn’t mean they couldn’t hurt him. Nathan didn’t have to have any _feelings_ for Charles if he wasn’t so inclined, but there was nothing difficult about honoring a promise to stick his dick in a hole. For god’s sake, the man had _kissed_ him. Even more than their mutual erections, that had to have meant something.   
  
So no; regarding the crazy woman who’d monopolized Nathan’s minimal powers of concentration, Charles didn’t at all regret what had happened at Klokikon. She was dead, and so was her attachment to Nathan. The only annoyance was that he had to tell her next of kin that their (in this case) daughter and sister had blown herself to pieces.   
  
He opened up a fresh Word document and started to type.   
  
_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Barker,  
  
I regret to inform you that –_   
  
No, that wouldn’t do. This wasn’t exactly a standard condolence letter, after all. How exactly could one politely say “Your daughter blew up a convention full of people, including herself, while dating an idiot on my watch”? Make no mistake, he’d _gladly_ say that (it wasn’t as if anyone expected a warmer message from him, after all), but the word “idiot” would cause more than a few Nathan fans to send him death threats. Considering that inconvenience, he might as well be diplomatic.   
  
Sighing, he deleted the salutation and started another.   
  
_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Barker,  
  
You undoubtedly know by now that your daughter was dating Nathan Explosion, and that she is now deceased. Unfortunately, she died when a bomb that she had strapped to her body detonated, killing her and several hundred thousand Dethklok fans.   
  
As a representative of the band, I would like to say that we understand, and extend our condolences for, your loss. Keep in mind that any attempt to sue Dethklok on your daughter’s behalf will result in failure.   
  
Cordially,   
Charles F. Ofdensen  
Manager of Dethklok_   
  
He’d forgo the Hot Topic gift card in this case. They’d likely understand; besides, her parents ought to have considered themselves damn lucky that he wasn’t suing _them_. Ruthless or not, though, Charles wouldn’t do that to Nathan. Not even a callous jackass like him deserved to be involved in a suit against his dead girlfriend’s family.   
  
“Hey, chief?” Pickles’s head poked around the edge of Charles’s partly-open door. “Whatcha doin’?”   
  
Charles clicked a button and sent the condolence letter to his printer. “Work, Pickles,” he said. “Do you need something?”   
  
“Nah.” Following his head, the rest of Pickles appeared in front of the door and walked over to Charles’s desk. “Ummm…yeh, nope, I gaht nothin’. You wanna go git drunk?”   
  
“Not particularly,” Charles answered. He had a conference with about a quarter of the United Nations to plan and, boring as that could be, it was preferable to sitting around with a very drunk band. Especially (and _god_ , why was he thinking about this?) Nathan, who was no doubt drinking beer and clumsily rhapsodizing about his dead girlfriend at this very moment.   
  
“Sure, whatever, dood. Thaht I’d ask.” Pickles shrugged and scratched a freckle on his cheek. “Theat was brutal, Charlie. Rescuin’ us from theat crazy dooshbeag lady. Jest oatta curiosity, how many people…y’know, hamburger timed?”   
  
“From the explosion, you mean?” Charles said. Pickles nodded. “As far as I know, most of the fans there are dead.” He’d already heard that a few had survived, and undoubtedly more would climb out of the rubble, but Charles didn’t see how more than a few could live through the trauma of an exploding convention center. “I’m assuming that you weren’t acquainted with any of them?”   
  
“Nope. Well…I banged some lady in th’ bathroom, but she was dressed up like a girl Skwisgaar. Wouldn’t _you_ have fucked her?” Pickles smirked, obviously remembering his sexual encounter with the woman. “Dood, she was suckin’ my balls like she wanted to _swallow_ them!”   
  
Charles held up a hand. “Enough, Pickles. What have I told you about telling me about your sexual encounters in detail?”   
  
Pickles sighed. “Don’t do it, ‘cause it’s inconsiderate,” he singsonged. “Feine. Sure y’don’t wanna git plastered? I gaht th’ _good booze_.”   
  
That reminded him – he had to check his drawers, just to make sure the boys hadn’t stolen his pear brandy for another chug-fest. They had been known to do that on occasion. “No, Pickles. I don’t need to get drunk.”   
  
“Okay. Jest wondering.” Pickles squinted at his desk lamp, as if considering whether or not he wanted to smash it, before shaking his head and walking towards the door. “See ya later, Charlie. ‘Cause, y’know, I might git real smeashed and come throw up in here.”   
  
“Please don’t,” Charles said. “I don’t want to have to get my floor professionally cleaned again.” The last such incident had been only a month and a half ago. “And pass the message along to your bandmates: no throwing up in my office.”   
  
“Yer no fun,” Pickles grumbled as he left. A second or two later, his head poked back in. “Hey, Charlie?”  
  
“Yes, Pickles?”   
  
“C’n I go find another Skwisgirl ahnline ‘n bring her here, and fuck her in the rec room?” Pickles widened his eyes in what Charles recognized as a ‘puppy face.’   
  
Given his years of experience with Pickles, though, he was immune to it. “No, Pickles.”   
  
“Oh, _feine_.” And with that, he disappeared again.   
  
Charles enjoyed a few more hours without anyone bothering him, during which he sent a message to the makers of Dethcones, ordering another shipment for the boys (Toki in particular enjoyed smearing them all over his face, which was both amusing and unsurprising), organized a meeting with the Mordhaus scientists about modifications to the scream-activated lighting, and ate half a bowl of microwaved mixed vegetables while watching video coverage of the last Dethklok concert to check for suspicious death (there were two instances this time). He might even have been able to boast of an evening without anyone getting in his face, had Toki not knocked on his door frame.   
  
“Hey, Charles! I can talks to you?” he asked. He was very obviously excited about something, since he only ever hugged his stomach like that when he was either so happy he could burst, or about to throw up. “Dere was a cool t’ings at Klokikons.”   
  
“Toki, if this is about the fan fiction, there’s nothing I can do,” Charles said. “Legally speaking, as long as they put up a disclaimer stating that they realize they have no affiliation –“   
  
“No, it wasn’t about de homoskexuals fan fictions,” Toki broke in. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, still grinning. “Dere was an arts, Charles! And de artist ams gave me de fantastkicks abs!”   
  
“Ah. Well, good for you.” It was always good for Toki to have a few fans; he had about fifty percent fewer raging tantrums when he was told that at least _some_ people liked him. Charles clicked on one of his browser tabs, opening up the United Nations website. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”   
  
“Um…noes?” Toki smiled at him. “You comes get drunk wit’ us, Charles. I gots a real good beer what Pickle amens’t already drinks.”   
  
“I already told Pickles that I’m not interested in getting drunk,” Charles said, although that was becoming more and more of a lie by the second. He tended to feel the urge to drown his sorrows whenever the boys yammered at him. “But thank you for the offer, Toki. Why don’t you go drink with the others?”   
  
“ _Ja_ , sures. I go drinks my beer.”   
  
Charles made a mental note to send someone out to go check the rec room for passed-out members of Dethklok in a few hours. “All right. I’ll talk to you later, Toki.”   
  
“Sure, Charles - _eee!_ ” There was a loud _thunk_ , as if two bodies had run into each other. “Oh! Nathans! I not saws you dere.”  
  
“Yeah, hi.” Nathan’s rumbling voice reverberated in the hall. “Scram, Toki. I wanna talk to the robot.”   
  
“Okays. I sees you later, Nathan.” Toki’s scuttling footsteps clicked on the stone floor, and Charles counted off the seconds in his head before there would be a very pissed-off singer in his office: _three, two, one…_   
  
“Hey, _Charles!_ ” Nathan stomped in the door, fists clenched and jaw set – he looked more than anything like a chlorophyll-free version of the Incredible Hulk, and Charles wouldn’t have been at all surprised to hear him growl _Nathan smash!_   
  
In spite of himself, his lips twitched at the idea. “Yes, Nathan?”   
  
Nathan frowned at him. “The fuck are _you_ laughing about? I’m talking about serious shit.”   
  
“You haven’t said a word.” Charles’s smile disappeared at the obvious signs of Nathan’s horrible mood. First he ignored Charles for weeks in favor of some axe-crazy fan, then he had the nerve to storm into his office like the manager had offended him? “If you’re going to talk to me about serious _things_ , then please just say them, instead of prevaricating.”   
  
Yes, it was vindictive to use five-dollar words against a man too dull-witted – in most things, anyway – to understand them, but at this point, Charles didn’t give a fuck.   
  
“Pre… _what?_ What the fuck’s that mean?” Nathan said.   
  
“Never mind. I meant, please stop beating around the bush and say what you’re going to say already.” He could feel his voice tensing, dangerously close to sounding snappish – a few more exchanges like that and he would be hard-pressed to keep himself from flat-out yelling. And if he did that, then Nathan would have won, and Charles would have let himself completely lose it over the promise of a fuck that might not even have been a promise after all. _Keep it together, Ofdensen_ , he told himself. “Is something wrong?”   
  
“ _Yeah_. You’re not fuckin’ palling around with us, you douche!” Nathan plunked down into one of the chairs in front of Charles’s desk. “What the _fuck_ , Charles? My girlfriend just _died_ , and you’re just…sitting here and doing your stupid asswiping paperwork and shit instead of trying to make me talk about it like a pussy!”   
  
“You dislike talking about your feelings,” Charles pointed out. Why in hell was Nathan complaining about this?   
  
“Charles.” Nathan folded his arms and stared down his long nose at him. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”   
  
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with me.” Charles reined in his voice, making it tighter, a little stronger and more controlled. “I happen to have post-convention work to do. That’s not exactly conducive to, ah… _palling around_ with you and your bandmates while the five of you drink yourselves stupid.”   
  
“Fuck that.” Nathan pounded a fist into Charles’s desk hard enough to make Charles jump. He would have sworn that Nathan’s fist left a mark when the front man drew his hand back. “You   
always say pussy shit, even though I hate it. Why aren’t you doing it now? _Huh?_ ”   
  
“I don’t feel you need any of my…’pussy shit’ right now, Nathan,” Charles said. His voice tightened just a tiny bit more, a fraction of a tone higher, like a guitar string held tight by a thick finger. “You’ve never been interested in the things I have to say, and you’re clearly not going to start now.”   
  
Dull as Nathan could be sometimes, still, Charles saw his eyes spark with something like realization. “You’re pissed off. Pissed off at _me_!” he said. “That’s why you’re not saying that shit about how it wasn’t my fault she’s dead. You’re sitting _here_ , doing shit on your computer and…what the fuck are you even doing?”   
  
“Work, and it’s none of your business.” Charles quickly pushed the power button and shut his computer off. “Why are you here, Nathan? You don’t seem to need anything right now, and you certainly don’t seem to be interested in anything having to do with me.”   
  
“What the hell do you mean, I’m _not interested?_ ” Nathan shot back. “I’m here, right? I’m standing here, being a douchebag and being all… _caring_ about you. That’s fuckin’ gay. I’m being gay for you.”   
  
“Well, you certainly haven’t wanted to for the past few weeks!” There. It was out; he’d said it. Nathan had provoked it out of him, and now he could do what he liked with the information. Charles crossed his arms and glared at Nathan with an intensity that matched the singer’s own.   
  
“…wait.” Nathan blinked a few times, making the long eyelashes that Charles cursed himself for noticing flutter up and down. “This is ‘cause I didn’t do…oh _god_. Right. I didn’t do gay shit with you ‘cause of Trindle, and now you’re being a bitch. _Right_.”   
  
Trindle. What a goddamn ridiculous name, and yes, Charles was aware that that could be construed as sour grapes, which was why he hadn’t said a word of his derision to anyone. “First of all, I may be attracted to men, but I’m not a woman,” he said. “Gendered insults are bad enough, but at least use the correct ones. Secondly, you expressed _interest_ in me, Nathan. You can brush it off as being drunk or high or what have you, but yes, I kissed you – and you kissed me. Most people would construe what you said afterwards as a statement of intent.”   
  
“When I said I was gonna fuck you?” Nathan shook his head. “I wasn’t drunk or anything. I was gonna. I just…didn’t.” He lowered his head a little, and a strand of hair fell into his face. “I wasn’t…fuckin’ _scared_ or anything, but I…didn’t. Yeah.”   
  
“You didn’t,” Charles echoed. “Were you planning to give me some sort of indication that I didn’t have to wait for you, or did your attention span get the better of you again?”   
  
“Are you fuckin’ calling me _stupid?_ ”   
  
“Perhaps. Do you understand what I’m saying?”   
  
“ _Yes_ , okay? You’re calling me stupid, and you’re pissed off at me because I didn’t come by and fuck you and do gay shit.” Nathan slammed his palms flat onto the desktop and leaned across to stare at Charles, eyes furious. “You know what? That’s not my motherfucking job. If you want me to fuck you, then _you_ gotta come by and say you wanna get fucked. It’s a double street.”   
  
“A two-way street,” Charles corrected automatically.   
  
“Shut up. Yeah, a two-way street.” Nathan reached across the desk, suddenly, and grabbed Charles’s tie, crushing it in his hand. “ _Say_ it, Charles. _Do you want me to fuckin’ fuck you?_ ”   
  
He would be pushing his luck if he said one word either to the contrary or not, but Charles wasn’t about to let Nathan step on him. “No,” he said. Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Who says I want to get fucked? Maybe I want to fuck _you_.”   
  
“Yeah?” Nathan raised an eyebrow. “You want _me_ to be gay, too?” Despite the condemnatory nature of his words, his tone had changed; it was no longer angry, but simply curious, and maybe even aroused. “So you, uhhhh…you wanna fuck me? Up the _ass_? That’s gay.”   
  
Charles’s mouth twitched again. “Nathan, you kissed me. Don’t tell me that you’re not interested in doing anything ‘gay’ with me, because I won’t believe it.”   
  
“Huh. Good point.” Nathan made a low, chuckling sound deep in his throat and let go of Charles’s tie, leaving the fabric crumpled and a little sweat-stained. “Hey, Charles.”   
  
“Yes?” Charles wasn’t quite sure what Nathan was leading up to here; was he about to poke fun at him, or acquiesce?   
  
“You wanna fuck me?” Nathan’s mouth spread into a slow grin. “Then get the hell over here and motherfuckin’ _do it_.”   
  
No one had ever said that Charles Ofdensen was a coward. Setting his face in an unreadable expression, Charles stood up behind his desk, took the few careful steps around it until he was about a foot away from Nathan, and looked at him. This close, he could smell him – sweat, booze, smoke, and maybe deodorant. His dick throbbed.   
  
_Sink or swim_. He had to do it now, or he’d lose his nerve forever. Taking Nathan’s face firmly between his palms, as the singer had done to him weeks ago, he pulled his face down and kissed him.   
  
Immediately, he gasped in surprise as he felt himself lifted off his feet, and he didn’t mean it in the figurative sense. Nathan had scooped him up in his arms, mouth still attached to his, and was now biting Charles’s lower lip. “ _Shit_ ,” he rumbled against Charles’s mouth; Charles could feel the vibrating hum down to the tips of his toes.   
  
He moaned back, and Nathan took the opportunity to bite his lip again, harder this time. “Nathan - _ow_.” Charles broke the kiss and looked into Nathan’s face. “That’s too hard.”   
  
“Oh. Yeah…um.” Nathan adjusted his hold, squeezing Charles’s ass along the way. “Can we do this, uhhhhh…in your bed? I don’t, uhh…” This was the first opportunity Charles had had to observe Nathan in a sexual situation, but he was less than surprised at the degree of verbal disjointedness Nathan was experiencing. Hormones tended to do that even to the smartest of people. “I don’t wanna fuck on the floor.”   
  
“Ah…yes. The door on the left.” Charles pointed. “It’s unlocked – oh god.” Oblivious to what he was saying, obviously, Nathan kicked the door open, making it swing in. Charles could hear the crack of his doorknob on the stone wall. “Don’t break my door.”   
  
Nathan only grunted, and kicked the door closed before starting towards the bed. Charles braced himself, and again wasn’t surprised when Nathan dumped him onto the covers, then opened his bedside drawer and started rooting through it. “Hey, Charles, you got any lube?”   
  
“It’s in there somewhere. Get a condom, too.”   
  
That made Nathan stop. “The fuck? Why do you want a condom?”   
  
Charles had reminded himself before that Nathan wasn’t a _complete_ idiot, but at times like this, it was difficult to remember that. “Because I don’t want you leaking out your ass all day,” he said bluntly. The language made him blush, but with Nathan, it was necessary. “I’m going to come inside that instead.”   
  
“Oh. Yeah, good. I don’t wanna…oh god, _ew_. People actually do that? Leak out their asses?” Nathan’s chatter didn’t dissuade him from finding the lube and condoms, both of which he had in his hands within another minute. “Yeah, here.” He tossed them towards Charles and immediately took his shirt off.   
  
Charles, for his part, took the opportunity to stare. It was true enough that Nathan had let himself go, but even the bulge of his stomach and his “man-boobs,” as the boys called them, didn’t detract from the obvious strength in his arms, chest, and hips. He was fucking gorgeous, and Charles groaned, rubbing himself through his pants. “Dear _god_ , Nathan.”   
  
“Yeah?” Nathan blushed. “You like it?”   
  
“For fuck’s sake, _yes_. Take the rest of your clothes off – please,” he added when Nathan blinked at him.   
  
Nathan nodded, kicking off his boots and unzipping his jeans as he did. “You gotta get naked, too,” he said, looking back over his shoulder. “’Cause I bet you’re not…uhhh…freeballing.”   
  
He was right; Charles was not, in fact, freeballing (he only did it when he had either run out of underwear or had too big of an erection to shove it into a pair of briefs). Quickly, he stripped off his suit jacket and tie, pants, and shoes, then got to work on his shirt buttons. Nathan was completely naked by this point, and Charles’s fingers fumbled as he looked at him.   
  
“You want me to do that?”   
  
“No, I have it under control.” The last few buttons came undone, and Charles had barely taken his shirt off when Nathan was on top of him, kissing him again and wrapping his arms around Charles’s back; his palms were warm and heavy on his shoulder blades. Their bare chests rubbed together, and Charles whimpered loudly when Nathan’s chest hair tickled at his nipples.   
  
Nathan groaned, too, and reached down to fondle Charles’s cock with a big hand, rubbing it against his own. His fingers weren’t overly callused like those of the guitar players, but it was just firm enough, and Charles closed his eyes at how good it felt.   
  
“Oh, _fuck_ , Nathan,” he said. Breaking the kiss, he ducked his head and bit Nathan’s neck, thick and a little sweaty from the exertions so far. Nathan shivered. “I…I really…I want to fuck you so badly.”   
  
“Yeah…” Nathan spread his legs, pressing his cock harder against Charles’s. “ _Do_ it, Charles. Be a fuckin’ man and fuck the shit outta me.”   
  
Slightly disgusting phrasing aside, Charles had every intention of doing just that. He reached between them and found the condom that Nathan had thrown over, a little heated and bent, but still perfectly usable. “I’m going to,” he said. “Ow – hold on…” He shifted and grabbed the lube. “Roll over, Nathan.”   
  
“Umm?” Nathan bit Charles’s earlobe. “Why?”   
  
“Because I’m going to be on top, that’s why.” Charles squeezed one of Nathan’s firm, plentiful asscheeks, digging his fingers in and finishing with a light slap. “I’m not going to be on the bottom and fuck you.”   
  
“ _Shit!_ ” Nathan immediately rolled over, bringing Charles with him so that their positions were reversed.   
  
Charles kissed him again as a reward, then popped open the lube and smeared his forefinger with it. “Spread your legs now. I want to stretch you.”   
  
Nathan grumbled, but did as Charles said. Charles sat back and took a moment to just look at the body spread out in front of him, heaving chest, long, thick legs, chiseled face and silky hair, erection and all, and smiled as he slowly slid his slick finger between Nathan’s legs and into his entrance.   
  
Nathan bit his lip. “Mother _fuck_ …”   
  
“No, Nathan, it’s just me.” Charles chuckled slightly and wiggled his finger around. “Does that feel all right?” God, to have his finger inside Nathan Explosion, hot, tight, and both slick and rough – he only hoped that he wouldn’t pull a Toki and explode then and there (as the rhythm guitarist had described in far too much detail at the breakfast table one morning). “I’m going to put in another one.”   
  
“Okay.” Nathan’s nostrils flared with heavy breaths as his chest and stomach rose, then fell. In and out – seeming far more enraptured by pleasure than pain. Good. Charles nodded, lubed a second finger, and slipped them both back inside him.   
  
Nathan tensed, biting his lip with a low hiss, but relaxed within a few seconds. “Good,” Charles told him. “This shouldn’t hurt. I’m going as slowly as I can.” Far too slowly for his penis’s liking, but he wasn’t about to let it take the lead on this one. Nathan was irritating as hell too much of the time, but he didn’t want to hurt him (besides maybe some scratches down his pale back). He spread his fingers apart and pressed them up and down, scissoring slightly, trying to make those too-tight muscles relax.   
  
Nathan bore it for a few minutes without moving, but soon enough, he started wriggling. “Are you gonna put three in?” he asked. “It feels fuckin’ weird. Is your dick gonna feel weird?”   
  
“Slightly,” Charles said, smile widening, “but it shouldn’t feel like this, exactly.” If it did, he would have to get his penis checked out at St. Necrophagist’s, but he chalked that thought up to Nathan’s ramblings and took his fingers out. He smeared three fingers in lube, then slowly began to stretch Nathan again.   
  
“Whoa, _hey_!”   
  
“What?” Charles froze. Was he hurting him?   
  
“It actually feels kinda _good!_ ” Nathan’s eyes went wide. “ _Shit_. Do it faster.”   
  
“Don’t rush me.” Charles head pounded with relieved adrenaline, compounding the pounding from his arousal. He’d have one hell of a headache when he was finished, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t worth it, not when Nathan was in his bed. After a few more minutes of stretching the singer out, he opened the condom and rolled it onto his erection before covering it in lube. “Are you ready?”   
  
In response, Nathan closed his eyes and spread his legs wide, his dick and balls heavy and flushed pink against the blue fabric of Charles’s comforter. “Yeah.”   
  
“All right.” Charles put his hands on Nathan’s hips to steady them both, then laid his palms flat on the bed – such an ironic echo of Nathan’s position so short a time ago – as he started to push inside. “Relax,” he said. “Try to…” Nathan was tighter than he’d imagined, and indescribably hot and smooth; Charles could feel him even through the condom. “Try to loosen up,” he said, voice strained. “It’ll feel better that way.”   
  
“I’m _trying_.” Even through arousal and discomfort, Nathan sounded irritated. Only Nathan. Rolling his eyes, Charles reached down and wrapped a loose fist around the other man’s erection as he lowered himself down, sliding in all the way.   
  
“ _Fuck_.” They said it at almost the same time, Nathan’s lower voice and Charles’s higher one moaning in tandem. Charles could feel Nathan’s dick pulsing in his fist, leaking a drop or two of moisture against his fingers. It wasn’t at all disgusting; in fact, he felt himself get even harder at the sensation. Slowly, he stroked his fist up and down over the soft skin of Nathan’s dick, careful not to squeeze too hard.   
  
“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_! Keep doing that!” Nathan’s hands were on Charles’s hips then, digging in as those green eyes squeezed tightly shut.   
  
Charles gladly did. As he started to move inside him, first slowly, then more quickly as Nathan relaxed and started thrusting into his hand, he moved his fist up and down in response. He never would have imagined himself doing this, not even a few months ago this very year, but now – deep inside Nathan, pleasuring him with long strokes with his own face buried in Nathan’s neck, he knew he’d never be able to stop.   
  
Their thrusts synched after a while, Nathan’s hips moving back and his ass pressing harder against the bed as Charles thrust inside him, then swelling up to press his cock into Charles’s lube- and sweat-slick fist. Charles kept his eyes closed, muffling his moans in Nathan’s neck and pressing sloppy, hot kisses there with every movement of their bodies.   
  
Nathan was the one who came first. With a deafening shout of “Charles! _Fuck!_ ” he shook and groaned, bucking his hips uncontrollably and spurting into Charles’s hand. He tightened around the manager, and Charles felt an answering tightness start in his own belly, growing and reaching up his spine until he broke, too.   
  
He bit Nathan’s neck, hard, as he came, the warmth of Nathan’s body and the spasms still shaking the singer’s body forming spots behind Charles’s eyelids. His hands clamped down on Nathan’s sides and dug in; he wouldn’t see the fingernail marks until they bruised later, but he could feel Nathan hiss with the give of his flesh.   
  
Finally, it was over for both of them, and they lay plastered together, sticky and sweaty. Neither spoke for a while, but after a few minutes, Charles felt Nathan start to rub circles on his back with one hand. “Mm.” He nuzzled Nathan’s neck and kissed the skin he’d just bitten.   
  
“I don’t _feel_ gay.” Nathan’s voice, louder than Charles’s noise of contentment, broke the silence and made Charles jump a tiny bit. “I got fucked, but I feel like…me.”   
  
“Of course.” Charles hated to pull out, but he had to; he couldn’t stay inside Nathan even for the rest of the night, not unless he wanted to get walked in on by either one of the boys or some hapless Gear. He slowly pulled away from Nathan’s body and took off the condom, throwing it into the wastebasket next to his bed. “You’re exactly the same as you’ve always been. Having sex with a man doesn’t change your personality.”   
  
“Oh, fuck, shut _up_.” Nathan hit him on the shoulder and started to sit up, but then winced. “I feel all gross.”   
  
“Yes, well, that would be because you came all over yourself.” Charles grabbed a few tissues from his bedside table and carefully wiped Nathan’s belly clean, then his own. Setting the tissues aside, he rested his hand on Nathan’s chest as he lay back down next to him. “For what it’s worth, I feel no different, either.”   
  
“No.” Nathan shook his head. “Fuck what the guys say. This was _awesome_.”   
  
Charles snorted. “I wouldn’t go around telling them about this, if I were you,” he said. With the boys’ notorious blabbering habits, the world economy would collapse before long if Nathan were allowed to brag.   
  
“Duh, _no_. They’d call me a fag and then I’d punch ‘em.” Nathan made a fist and shoved it into the air, as though into the face of one of his bandmates (probably Murderface). “But…you know, I don’t wanna just…stop. I _really_ want to do this again.” He rolled over to face Charles and looked into his eyes. “Do you?”   
  
For once, Charles didn’t have to think about his answer at all. “Of course,” he said. “This was wonderful, Nathan.” Nathan’s eyes went wide again. “Keep in mind that you’re under no obligation to be…serious with me, if you don’t want to,” he added, “but I’d prefer that you stay in contact with me. No more ignoring, all right?”   
  
“Okay.” Nathan patted Charles’s back. “But that’s gay, too.”   
  
“I don’t give a damn.” Charles’s Dethphone buzzed, and he groaned as he rolled over to get it. Great. He had a text from Pickles, saying that Skwisgaar had stolen his booze and was being, according to Pickles’s spelling, a “dooch bag” about it. “Wonderful, more problems.” He sat up and looked around for his clothes, which as it turned out, had fallen off the bed onto the floor. “I have to go make sure your bandmates don’t kill each other. You can stay here if you want to.”   
  
Nathan flopped over onto his other side. “Yeah, I’m gonna. Got any food in here?”   
  
“There are chips in my office cabinet.” Charles pulled on his pants and started to button his shirt. “Just don’t smash anything.”   
  
“I’m not gonna. And…Charles?”   
  
“Yes?” Charles turned around, fastening a button.   
  
“I’ll tell the guys to quit smashing your good lamps.”   
  
It was a small thing, but even a tiny act of consideration from Nathan meant the world. Charles had experienced few enough of them to know that. “Thank you.” He tied his tie, and slipped his jacket and shoes back on, then walked over to where Nathan had formed a lump under his covers. “I’ll be back soon.”   
  
“You _better_ ,” Nathan grumbled.   
  
Charles bent down and pressed his lips against the top of Nathan’s head. He was adorable when he was petulant. “All right.”   
  
He closed the door behind him and walked down the hall towards the rec room, already anticipating the talk with Skwisgaar and Pickles that would no doubt ensue, as well as another threat that if Murderface didn’t stop throwing knives, he wouldn’t be allowed to have them anymore.   
  
For once, though, he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Nathan was waiting for him, and for now, that was all that mattered.


End file.
